


Metastable

by MrsCaulfield



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Getting Together, Jealous Aziraphale (Good Omens), Jealousy, Love Confessions, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, lots of science references just because i can
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-31
Updated: 2019-07-31
Packaged: 2020-07-28 02:54:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,225
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20056855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MrsCaulfield/pseuds/MrsCaulfield
Summary: Aziraphale would be lying if he said that he had never tried to pose a problem to Crowley with the specific purpose of getting a solution out of him. There had been the "I would always know the stain was there", and of course the more blatant "Do something, or I’ll never talk to you again", among many others. Still, he would swear on all his earthly and remaining heavenly possessions that he hadn’t been trying it this time. It had all been Crowley.“We should get married, then.”For a second Aziraphale thought he’d been discorporated again.-In which Aziraphale struggles to find out who he is after the Notpocalypse and Darwin, a cup of coffee, an animated film, and his spasms of unconditional Love for a certain demon all help him through it.





	Metastable

**Author's Note:**

> My first fic for this fandom and also the first *anything* I've written in 3 years.

“Crowley,” the angel called Aziraphale said to his companion from across the bookshop, shoving arms into the sleeves of his coat. “I’m finishing up. Are we to dine at the Ritz tonight?”

Crowley hummed in response. Rather surprised by the lack of comment from the usually vivacious demon, Aziraphale spoke, “I do hope I did not keep you waiting too much.” He walked over to where Crowley was reading, curled up on the floor of one corner of the shop. He’d never much taken a liking to chairs, as can be observed in every other moment he had attempted to sit upright on the benches of St. James Park. The result was always this half slouching, half lying down position—as if the demon was eagerly being called back to Head Office.

“S’fine. Was quite absorbed in something, actually.” Crowley snapped the book shut and set it back on the shelf in one fluid movement. Now they had known each other for the better part of six thousand years. To the untrained eye it would appear a nonchalant action of someone who’s had to practice being cool (which, if we’re being frank, Crowley definitely was).

“What have you been reading?” Asked the angel, attempting the same level of nonchalance—which was to say, not that much.

“Nothing you should worry your pretty head about,” Crowley said, grinning. “I’m thinking of getting pork roast tonight. You should probably get fish.”

“Why would I get fish?”

“Because I’m craving it.”

“So why would I be the one getting fish?” Lines appeared on Aziraphale’s forehead.

“So I can try it, obviously.” Crowley strode out the front door before he could reply. “You coming or not?” He turned back to Aziraphale.

Aziraphale took a deep breath and sensed that he had been derailed. His eyes wandered about the spot where Crowley had stood, and he remembered. “You’ve been distracting me!” He grabbed the book Crowley had just returned to the shelf. A copy of _On the Origin of Species_ glared up at him. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Narcissism was a trait that could be attributed to neither angel nor demon, but at the moment Crowley absolutely exuded it.

“Don’t give me that look.” Crowley’s eyebrows appeared from the behind the shelter of his dark glasses. “There aren’t a lot of books in here that won’t make me want to take my eyes out, angel. You haven’t forgotten that fantastic night with Dickens, have you? Wished right then and there I could turn that wine into holy water.”

He walked out to his parked Bentley to give it a quick scan. Aziraphale followed, pensive.

***

“You know, as far as temptations go, that was nowhere near your finest work,” Aziraphale said over the swell of piano chords when they had taken their seats at their usual table in the restaurant.

“Beg your pardon?” Crowley’s chin stuck out, his eyebrows challenging. “I’ve done plenty of fine _thingssss_.”

Aziraphale suddenly thought of the stars in the sky. How many were hung by Crowley, he wasn’t sure. But he always thought they all spoke to him. “I know you’ve always fancied yourself the biology enthusiast, but _evolution_.” The angel made a face that was quite similar to the one he made when he cleansed his system of alcohol. “You remember Eden just as well as I. You couldn’t have championed such plain balderdash!”

The demon had the gall to look affronted. “On the contrary, Darwin was among my finest work.” The pork roast was stabbed by the fork’s devilish prongs.

“I cannot believe you right now.”

The slice of pork began circling the air above Crowley’s hand as the demon snarled. “You—you know demons, right? Know how they take pride at how well they’re doing _’securing souls for the Master’. _They always went about it in the dullest of ways. These guys didn’t even _try _to leave the 17th Century! They go on and on _and on_ about how we must fester into their deepest desires and lead them into temptation. Humans are perfectly capable of doing all that to themselves. _Demons_, on the other hand, are the most useless creatures in existence—next to dear old Gabriel, that is.”

Aziraphale watched the restless piece of pork finally be eaten. Crowley stared at him while chewing. The angel raised his chin, waiting for the rest.

“I’ve always been a firm believer of efficiency,” Crowley finished simply with a subtle wink sent at Aziraphale.

“And you, with one man and one idea,” said Aziraphale, “secured not the soul of a priest nor a politician, but-but a _legion_ of biologists, paleontologists, sociologists, and cultural anthropologists, as well as the plebeian population, and turned them all on each other?”

“And a hundred and sixty years later, it still lives on.” Crowley flashed a big-toothed smile, obviously pleased at his understanding. “Barely had to lift a finger.”

It _was_ efficient, Aziraphale had to admit. And it wasn’t as if the idea itself had come from Crowley. That was all the human’s doing. The clever demon needed only to pull a couple of strings to make sure his work had gotten published in the flashiest way possible. (The idea of evolution was beyond the imaginative capacity of both occult and ethereal beings, but that whole debacle between Darwin and Wallace was on a theatrical scale that could only have been sourced from one demon alone.) They were silent for the rest of the meal.

The night air was cool as they exited the restaurant. Winter was fast approaching, which Aziraphale had always disliked. But he decided he’d try and turn his perspective around this time. With Armageddon averted not long ago, he ought to be grateful he was getting any season at all. They walked, Crowley a few inches away at his side. He shivered.

“It still doesn’t cancel the fact that it was ridiculous,” Aziraphale found himself unable to let go of the conversation.

Crowley’s hands were in the pockets of his jeans, which weren’t very deep to begin with. It made his elbows stick out rather awkwardly. “You’re rather missing the point.”

“The point is that you of all people should know well how nature works and has always worked.”

“_Nature_,” Crowley spat, “is dictated by design. It’s coded into our being. It dictates who we are in the beginning—now _nurture_ tells us how we become. We aren’t born to live our natures, angel. Natural selection. We respond. Adapt or die.”

“But we are immortal, you and I,” Aziraphale pointed out bleakly. “We don’t die.”

“Exactly. We change. We become the result of those that influenced us.” Crowley grabbed his arm. The air began to shift. Aziraphale felt the growing beginnings of warmth branching out from his elbow. “What do you want to be, angel?”

For a moment he was stuck on the demon’s intense gaze. “You’re derailing me again.”

“It’s not been long since we became free agents. Take some time to think about it. Who are you without Heaven’s dragons breathing down your neck? Embrace your Darwinism.” He turned out a devilish grin. A street lamp flickered above them as Crowley leaned in dangerously close to his ear. “I’m excited to see you become, angel.”

The angel’s breathing was cut short. It wasn’t that he wasn’t used to Crowley being at close proximity, but it had become difficult to remain unaffected as of late. Aziraphale tilted his head, about to ask what he meant by that exactly, but the demon stepped back and gave a short wave. They were standing in front of his bookshop.

“Good night, Aziraphale.” The angel nodded, and Crowley disappeared in his Bentley.

The evening chills bit back at his skin. He entered the bookshop, already deciding to go and make himself a cup of hot cocoa. He could feel Crowley’s words crawling under his coat, playing on loop in his consciousness. This was mostly because, since stopping Armageddon, he had been—for lack of a better word—restless. It nagged him, considering that after all he’s been through he felt rather entitled to a few hundred years of retirement. Every single day he waited. What had changed since then? Not much, he thought. There was the bookshop that was not quite what it was before the fire. He pattered around, moving things, re-organizing, and not-selling. There were the little restaurants he favored, the food as comforting as they had always been. They did nothing to calm him. At least, the comfort did not translate to anything long-term.

_On the Origin of Species_ was still perched haphazardly on one of his shelves. When God created gravity, its nature dictated that all things on Earth be constantly attracted to its core. If he were to nudge the book it would fall to the ground with a thud. Things were always meant to stay on the ground.

And yet here was the book, barely hanging on to a narrow strip of wood, neither defying gravity nor exactly following it. _Metastable_ was how they called it. He thought of human inventions. Ships, massive, floating above the clear blue horizon. Planes hovering the sky by the thousands. They had all found ways around gravity.

_Adaptation_, he could hear in Crowley’s voice, _by means of natural selection._

_But they aren__’t stable_, Aziraphale countered in his imagination. _They run on engines. They__’ll run out of fuel. Everything succumbs, in the end. Why bother defying nature’s laws?_

_Look at the world around you,_ replied imaginary Crowley. _The world we both love. Where would it be if humanity hadn__’t?_

_I_ _’m not human. Neither are you._

_You chose humanity, Aziraphale. To be human is something you should_ _’ve mastered by now._

That night, Aziraphale slept for the first time in a month.

***

Who was he? Aziraphale pondered as he opened up the bookshop the next day, the sun’s rays a nominal presence from behind a few grey clouds. He was a Principality. Except that he wasn’t exactly on Heaven’s good books at the moment. Guardian of the Eastern Gate, except that Eden had ceased to exist long ago. Angel of the Flaming Sword, and yet he had given it away two times now.

Crowley let himself in without invitation. He didn’t need one. The two had been spending more and more time together since the Apocalypse That Didn’t Happen. They’d spent more time together in these past few months than they had in centuries.

“You’ve been _thinking_.” Crowley’s face was sour. “S’annoying. Ssstop it.”

“Oh do be jollier in the mornings, my dear. It’s too early for a row.” This was not true, as his shop opened at odd hours and at present it was nearing noon. He found himself staring at the inflections of the demon’s windswept auburn hair. The tips have now reached well past his ears. His exquisite cheekbones were emphasized by the rays of light streaming in. He always looked well put together. All confidently striding serpentine hips and dark glasses. “I like what you’ve done with your hair.”

Crowley opened his mouth several times and made not a single sound. “Well…” He managed to get out, fingers automatically reaching up and running through his locks, ruffling up the very style the angel had just complimented. “It’s…”

“It’s what, dear?”

“…_hair_, angel.” He finished dumbly, hand waving in the air. It appeared as if he didn’t trust his mouth to work any longer as he wordlessly handed Aziraphale a cup of coffee from another of the angel’s favorite shops.

“You shouldn’t have.” Aziraphale took the cup and couldn’t resist the urge to brush his index finger with Crowley’s as he did so. He’s faintly reminded of the books which Crowley did not neglect to save in that blasted church, all those years ago. There was a spark that jolted him at their contact. It’s quick and fleeting, but it tore him out of his concentration and made him gasp softly. Briefly he wondered if that was how it felt when Crowley walked on consecrated ground, for him. And he suddenly felt warmth all over before it dissipated gradually.

He flashed Crowley the biggest smile. To his delight, the demon appeared transfixed. “Peace offering,” Crowley replied.

Aziraphale recalled the suitcase filled with prophecy books. The ringing of _”Lift home,”_ as he struggled to collect his bearings. The amount of time it took thereafter to return back to the ground from where he’d been flung off to by the realization that he was truly, deeply in love with Crowley. That there had never been anyone else but Crowley and that he’d wanted only Crowley for an embarrassingly large fraction of his immortal life. The warmth of the coffee vibrated through his fingertips.

_”I lost my best friend.”_ How Crowley looked devastated in that pub. How Alpha Centauri seemed a long way off. And it was only then that it hit Aziraphale: He was Crowley’s best friend. He couldn’t have been referring to anyone else.

The coffee was shockingly bitter on his tongue. He stilled, blinking a few times as he tried to place the strength of it. “The taste is… a bit off.” He was sure this particular drink from the same shop he’d been going to the past three years didn’t ever taste like this.

Crowley shrugged. “Think the guy who made it was new. Give ‘im some time, he’ll get the hang of it.” He settled down on the couch, quite ready to sleep the day away. “If you need me,” he gestured to his form, flopped on the sofa. He dozed off almost instantly.

Aziraphale tried the coffee once more, just to pinpoint what it was exactly he was tasting. It seemed familiar, but very _very_ off. It was only on his third sip that it scalded his tongue. _Love_, supplied his angelic equivalent of a brain,_ is what it tastes like._

And he could not bear to drink any more. In the next instant the still almost full cup found its way straight to the bin.

The angel made determined steps towards a sleeping Crowley and shook his shoulder. “Get up.”

A long groan was his response. “Dnnn oo havvthings t’do?” Crowley was rolling away from him, so he tightened his grip on his shoulder.

Crowley opened his eyes. He was not wearing his glasses, and Aziraphale was struck by those golden irises he’d always found to be among the most beautiful of God’s creation (not that he’d ever mention this to their owner). Nevertheless, Crowley seemed intent on continuing his slumber. _Right, then. If he insists on being stubborn._

Blue eyes gazed into gold. He would _never_ admit that he pouted, but to any observer that was most certainly what he did. “I would like,” he took a moment to steel himself as Crowley looked on, curious, “to go to the cinema.”

“Well, I—” Crowley’s voice was low and gruff. He cleared his throat. “Wait, _now?_ You literally just opened the shop.”

Aziraphale nodded.

“Can’t you just wait until the evening? We’ve all the time in the world and I’m spending mine in well-deserved peaceful ressst.” Crowley settled back into the cushions.

“I’ve grown weary of rest,” the angel said, frowning. He could see the demon on the brink of slumber once again. Slowly he slid his palm down the length of Crowley’s arm, heat coming off of him in waves. “I should like to spend the day outside, if you are amenable.” He trailed his hand back up.

A shade of pink swells from Crowley’s high cheekbones to the tips of his ears. “Let me just get my coat.”

***

After much arguing, they settled on watching a family film. An animated feature with random singing. Aziraphale rarely watched animated things and had not had much time to fully appreciate them. Crowley was fascinated with how far these films have come in terms of hyper-realistic level of detail. Aziraphale also knew that, and Crowley would never allow anyone else to know this, the demon was largely susceptible to these films’ most tear-jerking moments. He noticed that Crowley was particularly more affected when these moments involved family reconciliations. (He’d walked into Crowley’s flat while he’d been engrossed in watching _Frozen_ once.)

Aziraphale barely registered the scenes unfolding before him. The theatre was dim and he was shivering. Had their heating system been busted? His fingers ran icy cold and he fidgeted, trying to find the most comfortable position that would warm them.

“You okay?” Crowley muttered, eyes glued to the screen. “You’ve been fidgeting since we got here. Something bothering you?”

“Every thing’s tip-top, my dear,” Aziraphale replied. “Just trying to get comfortable.”

He felt rather than saw Crowley’s gaze shift toward him. “Angel, you’re shaking.”

“Well, I can hardly help it with the heaters being down and all.” Aziraphale said as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.

Crowley’s brows furrowed. “Seems all fine to me. It’s probably just your scratchy trousers. We wear jeans in the 21st century, you know.”

“Then you’re wrong. It’s just as cold in here as it had been outside.” Aziraphale took on the tone which let on that the conversation was to end there. He focused back on the screen.

Minutes later, Crowley burst into a fit of chuckles.

“Tell me what,” Aziraphale started, blue eyes narrowing, “exactly are you finding _funny?_”

“Nothing. It’s endearing that you’d argue about room temperature with a cold-blooded ssserpent.”

Aziraphale was about to retort, when he noticed that he’d stopped shivering. In fact, the room felt stuffy, and he had the smallest urge to unbutton his collar.

His eyes darted around, trying to make sense of what was happening—and _oh_. Crowley had a hand clasped firmly on his knee, four fingers drawing small circles onto the fabric.

There was warmth that blossomed through him, but he’d be discorporated before he lost in an argument against Crowley. “Snakes aren’t usually this clingy.”

A flash of a smile on Crowley’s face. “Where’ve you been?” His palm laid flat on the side of Aziraphale’s knee and settled there for the rest of the film.

***

“D’you ever think about Warlock, angel?”

Aziraphale looked up from the rims of his round glasses (which he did not at all need). “We just saw him on his birthday, remember? We waited for the Hellhound that never came.” He held back a grimace. The not-Antichrist was spoiled and impolite, and he’d never been that fond of children.

This was probably written on his face as Crowley barked out a laugh. “He’s a normal 11-year-old boy. S’what they’re all like. But you can’t help but wonder what it’d be like.”

“Darling, I hardly recall being eleven years old and I doubt you do as well.” The endearment rolled off his tongue smoothly, barely even registering as odd—up until he saw Crowley’s face that is.

The demon was stunned for a few seconds. “That’s… new.” Aziraphale chose not to answer. He was nowhere near prepared for the kind of conversation this might entail. “I don’t mind…” Crowley supplied weakly and shook his head. “I meant being a human kid. We were created for a purpose, Aziraphale. Think about growing up human. With no responsibilities whatsoever. And getting to choose what your bloody job would be.”

The angel nodded. “I suppose being a human child does have its merits.” He stopped there, a memory of _What do you want to be, angel?_ ringing in his head.

Aziraphale walked over to pick at a piece of lint that was on Crowley’s jacket. When that was done his gaze trailed back to the book in his hand.

Something shifted since that day at the cinema. Aziraphale could not tell what it was exactly, but there was a greater air of ease between he and Crowley. Touches became more and more frequent, until Aziraphale had become used to the slivers of warmth that radiated through him each time. Heat was just atoms vibrating, he thought to himself, conducted by a pathway which facilitates transfer of heat. That was what happened between he and Crowley—after six millennia of having had to school their words and their actions for fear of their bosses finding out about the Arrangement, they finally discovered that they could in fact say and do what they wanted to: a pathway has been opened.

Of course, it did make the cold much less bearable whenever Crowley wasn’t around. And he was certain Crowley did not reciprocate Aziraphale’s sentiments to the same degree. He had once, perhaps, developed an infatuation with Aziraphale. After all, the demon showed up and rescued him quite a number of times for someone who was supposed to be his hereditary enemy.

Crowley caught his wrist, causing the angel to still, not daring to meet his eyes.

Aziraphale thought of dark leather, tight auburn curls, and the vestiges of a teasing smirk in the Bastille. He had been thrilled to hear his voice. He deemed himself more than capable of fighting and defending, but in that moment he’d played into the role of damsel in distress, with Crowley more than happy to oblige.

“Could’ve just told me that was there, you know,” Crowley said, his fingers traveling up Aziraphale’s palm.

Aziraphale’s breath stuttered. There was so much _heat_ coming over it made his head spin. “Thought I’d… save you the trouble.”

“Eye for an eye.” The demon grinned, placing into his hand a cup of coffee he hadn’t noticed when Crowley came in.

“You did remember to request two sugars, did you not?”

“I’m wounded, angel.” Crowley stepped back, taking all the warmth with him. “That barista wouldn’t mess up a second time if he knows what’s good for him.”

Though Crowley had turned his back and couldn’t see him, Aziraphale’s lips curled into a crescent-shaped smile.

He fancied himself capable of getting his way with Crowley, for all that the demon had indulged him in the past. But that was all it would ever amount to. If Crowley loved him just as well then something should have happened by now. Instead, they resumed their previous routines. Crowley was Crowley, the angel thought fondly. He enjoyed getting Aziraphale riled up and would sometimes go to great lengths just to push his buttons. Aziraphale would also annoy him particularly when he was in a bad mood, and so Crowley had no choice but to make sure the angel was constantly happy.

Aziraphale was only the fool who fell in love with him.

And yet, even if this was all it ever amounted to, he would not change a thing. A world where he could live as Crowley’s best friend was more than enough. Crowley deserved the world and Aziraphale would spend every day making sure the demon felt that he was loved.

If he didn’t know who he was post-Armageddon, then he’d be just that: Crowley’s Trusted Companion.

Aziraphale took a sip from his cup and spat it back out. Who the _Hell_ was making all this coffee?

He held out the offending object, on its side a hastily scribbled _‘Anthony’_, with the _‘y’_ extending to loop out into a heart, followed by a series of numbers.

His body turned to ice.

“Crowley, dear,” he said feebly at the demon who was currently making a mess out of his stack of ancient medical journals. “Perhaps I should be getting the coffee from now on.”

***

“You do realize that you could just miracle your ideal coffee,” Crowley said a few days after as they were walking the few blocks to the coffee shop. “I didn’t know you’d be this upset about it. I sure as Heaven won’t be trying to miracle it _now_.”

Aziraphale huffed, shooting him a side-glare. “Well if you must know, I’ve actually been avoiding miracles lately.”

Crowley raised an eyebrow. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“I’m perfectly sensible. Heaven and Hell have finally decided to leave us alone for a while, and we needn’t draw more attention to ourselves than strictly necessary.”

From his peripheral vision he could see a fond smile on Crowley’s face. “And I s’pose you’re expecting me to follow suit.”

“If you would be much obliged,” said Aziraphale, except it didn’t sound at all like a request.

And just as he expected: “Whatever you want, angel.”

Aziraphale looked pleased. “My only concern is with the… financial aspect. I might be forced to actually sell a book or two now that we can’t miracle money out of thin air.”

Crowley nodded. “Not that you were much of a fan of it before.”

“It bolsters the inflation rate!” The angel’s hands shot up in the air. “I also have to really worry about taxes now. I’ve built up a rather… stellar reputation.”

Aziraphale would be lying if he said that he had never tried to pose a problem to Crowley with the specific purpose of getting a solution out of him. There had been the _I would always know the stain was there_, and of course the more blatant _Do something, or I__’ll never talk to you again,_ among many others. Still, he would swear on all his earthly and remaining heavenly possessions that he hadn’t been trying it this time. It had all been Crowley.

“We should get married, then.”

For a second Aziraphale thought he’d been discorporated again.

“What…?”

He turned to Crowley, but the demon was avoiding his gaze. “Think about it. There’ss lotsss of benefitsss, tax cutss just being one of them. We might actually need them if we’re to go on living the miracle-lessss life.” He spoke this all in one breath, as if he didn’t want to give himself a chance to take back his words.

It did make sense, thought Aziraphale. Of course Crowley would be clever enough to think of marriage as a way of getting around living as the humans did. But it was lead in his stomach, the idea of claiming Crowley as his own without having earned his love.

“You are aware,” the angel began, suddenly nervous, “that would entail having me as your spouse.”

And if that wasn’t the wrong expression to take. Crowley took in his vulnerability in an instant. He could hardly blame him. Demons were trained to sense weakness.

“Nothing ever went wrong with a bit of _sspousssing_,” Crowley replied, tone poised into temptation.

Aziraphale was about to form a response, when in the next second he had a wall on his back and a demon’s hand rested on the bricks beside his head. Crowley’s face was close, enough that heat radiated off of him without them directly touching. He could make out golden serpent’s eyes from beyond tinted glass.

“Why, angel?” Crowley had on a devilishly handsome grin and leaned close to his ear. “_Am I going too fast for you?_”

Not a single thought ran through Aziraphale’s head. There was only his corporeal heart, beating much faster than normal, and a certain demon looming over him. He blinked and dared a look at Crowley’s face.

Crowley’s expression shifted. The grin falling and rising a bit. Cheeky. Teasing. Fast pulling away—

“No.” Aziraphale grabbed the lapels of his coat and tugged, keeping the stunned demon in place. He whispered, burying his nose into Crowley’s cheek, “You’ll need to do better than that to get me bothered, darling.”

He shoved a pliant demon off of him and continued walking. It took a few moments before the demon fell into step with him, and by then they’d approached their destination.

Aziraphale pulled open the glass door and was hit by the pulsating waves of nauseating _love_. He grit his teeth, putting out a tight-lipped smile.

“Anthony,” chimed a voice from behind the counter. Aziraphale saw a well-built human with a mop of dark curls over his head. He was what one would consider to be attractive in the current decade’s standards. His big smile could easily brighten many people’s day just as well as the coffee could. A tag on his shirt bore the name ‘Will’. “Back again, I see,” he said breathlessly. Aziraphale noted a flush forming on his cheeks.

Crowley snapped to look at the barista when he heard his name, smiling in return. “Yeah, you know what it’s like. The past few days I’ve been… preoccupied.”

There was fire in the pit of Aziraphale’s stomach. He grabbed Crowley’s elbow, the one that was closer to him. His fingers crossed over to the front before firmly sliding down Crowley’s wrist and going back up again.

The angel felt no guilt at all at the sudden air of Dread that Will exuded.

“I take it… you’re getting your usual?” Will said, pointedly not looking at Aziraphale. The poor thing was absolutely rattled.

Crowley, on the other hand, looked not a hair out of place. “Actually, make that one black for me,” he looked at Aziraphale, who was then taken aback by the tantalizing look on the demon’s face, “and just the usual for my angel here.”

Aziraphale suddenly wished he could undo it all. He would have to answer to a series of uncomfortable questions later.

***

“Mind telling me what that was back there?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. The coffee is marvelous.”

They were back in Aziraphale’s book shop. The angel could not, for the life of him, bring himself to look at Crowley. Truthfully, he wasn’t in the mood for more of the demon’s teasing. He had a lot to think about.

“Look, I…” said Crowley, sensing that he was uncomfortable. “It’s not easy for me to talk about _this_—” he waved a hand between the two of them “—either, but… but we have to try, angel.”

Aziraphale looked at him then. “I assure you, _this_ needs no further explaining. I’m perfectly aware of what the limitations of _this_ are.” There was a pang in his chest and he was so bitterly cold.

Crowley looked more baffled than ever. “Good for you..? Now would you mind filling me in on these _limitationssss?_” Crowley’s tongue made more and more frequent appearances as he spoke. He was stressed out.

“I admit I… got carried away…” Aziraphale said, looking straight at him.

“Because if I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were definitely…”

“_Don__’t_ say it, Crowley. I beseech you!”

Miraculously, Crowley shut up. He held out his hands at his sides. “Not a word, Aziraphale. Not a word from these lips.”

Aziraphale allowed himself to relax a little.

Crowley gazed at him, expression turning gentle. “But seriously, angel, if any of _this_ makes you uncomfortable, we don’t have to _do _any_—_”

“—then there shouldn’t _be_ any mobile numbers on _my_ coffee cups, Crowley!” Aziraphale’s breathing was ragged.

Crowley’s eyebrows shot up, his jaw hanging open. “_What the Heaven are you talking about?_”

Aziraphale paled. “There was…and a-a heart—”

“Yes but did I call it?”

“Well, no, but…”

“I didn’t even know the bloody thing existed!” Crowley threw his arms upwards and stepped toward the angel. “Numbers, hearts, stars, bloody _pentagrams_—Aziraphale, do you know _why_ I don’t give a damn?”

Aziraphale stood, shocked for a few seconds. He took in the love of his life’s appearance. Rarely had he seen him this frustrated and bothered and the angel shuddered to think that this was because of him. He must be missing something.

He took a deep breath. “Of course I know,” he spoke with confidence, “Because you’re loyal to me.”

“Aziraphale…”

“Because I’m here and I have nowhere else to be but with you.” The angel smiled, feeling all the love in the world surge through him. “And I thank you for keeping me. You have my exceeding gratitude.”

A frown appeared on Crowley’s face. He looked _heartbroken_. “That’s… not right. At all.”

Aziraphale did not know what else to say. He had already laid bare his complete and utter devotion to Crowley, his gratitude at being allowed to stay by his side, and his understanding that he need not get the same reverence from him. He stared at Crowley, willing him to understand.

_Maybe if I__…_ He stepped within the demon’s personal space, palms laying flat on his chest, savoring the warmth that coursed through him. Crowley’s gaze followed his hands, and from this angle he could glimpse those beautiful golden eyes. He needed only to look into Crowley’s eyes and say it and Crowley, just like all the previous times the angel had done this, will certainly understand. He had to.

Crowley appeared as if he wanted to say something, his mouth slightly ajar, but Aziraphale beat him to it.

“I’m sorry, my love,” tears threatened to break out, “That I don’t know how to fix this.”

Crowley softened, his face morphing into several expressions in quick succession. A sound akin to a whine broke out of his throat when no words came out.

Aziraphale spoke. “Are you alright, dear?”

“Angel, did you…” Crowley sighed. “Did you _think_ I stayed with you out of _pity_? Of-of consolation?”

Aziraphale tilted his head in question.

Crowley’s hands came up to him, a gentle one on his lower back and a firmer, more forceful and deliciously _demonic_ one grasping hair at the back of his head. Beautiful golden eyes bore into his. Aziraphale was being hugged by hellfire.

“Because I have loved you…” Crowley leaned in, lips ghosting over his, never touching, “all the way from the Beginning, you _idiot!_”

Time ceased to be a concept. He was still for a moment that could have lasted anywhere between 2 seconds to a year. _Crowley loved him?_

Aziraphale cupped his jaw, placing a kiss on the corner of Crowley’s mouth. He smiled triumphantly.

Crowley’s grip loosened, a delightful flush appearing over his cheeks, his previous bravado broken and gone. He brought a palm up to his face for cover.

“You… _planned_ all this, didn’t you?” Crowley pointed an accusatory finger at him with the hand that wasn’t currently attempting to eat his face.

“Crowley! I am appalled that you would think me capable of doing that!” Aziraphale said, pouting.

Crowley muttered words only a few of which Aziraphale managed to understand. Something like _“…wouldn’t put it past you”_ and _“you go too fast _my arse_”._

“Crowley?” Aziraphale could not stop smiling now. “I would like very much to see your face right now.”

The angel grabbed the hand that was covering his face and pressed a kiss on the center of his palm. This did not appear to help the demon’s composure one bit.

Aziraphale looked the love of his life in the eye as he spoke. “I’ve figured out what I want to be now.”

“And what’s that?” said Crowley, voice low and lips already chasing the warmth of Aziraphale’s.

“Yours,” Aziraphale said, pressing his lips to Crowley’s. It was a chaste kiss that brought fire to his heart, and he was beaming. He pulled back, anxious to see Crowley’s response, but the demon swooped back in before Aziraphale could open his eyes.

“My angel…” Crowley said, sighing, “So beautiful…” Another kiss. “So clueless.” Aziraphale tilted his head to deepen the kiss, his hands roaming down Crowley’s chest, hungry for more heat. “You don’t have any idea, do you?” Crowley pulled back just enough to look into his eyes.

“About what?”

Crowley’s fingers rested on his cheek, entirely still and—oh, Aziraphale did not expect the love of his life to be so _tender_. And for all that Aziraphale doubted the nature of Crowley’s feelings towards him over the past millennia, he had all the faith in it now.

“You needn’t do much,” whispered Crowley. “I didn’t ask for this… _much_.” Aziraphale could see the slivers of disbelief in the demon’s shaded eyes and he realized—he had not been the only one held back by uncertainty. Crowley had been there right with him, and they both were foolish to realize they’d never walked at the same pace, but were always heading the same direction.

“But you have it nonetheless,” the angel replied. “Oh, darling, we wasted so much time.”

Crowley leaned in for another kiss. It felt like they were entwining.

“So…” Crowley said, pulling back and suddenly appearing nervous. “I meant to ask… I mean, I actually planned to never speak of it again but—well… In light of recent events I should probably bring it up—”

Aziraphale frowned. “I’m afraid I don’t follow, dear, but whatever it is just say it.”

Crowley opened his mouth and closed it again. “AAAAAARRRGHHH,” was his thoughtful response.

“Crowley…”

“Don’t make me say it, angel.”

“Then how am I supposed to respond?” Aziraphale crossed his arms. “You’re ruining a rather lovely moment we just had there with your… groveling.”

“I-It’s!” Crowley released a heavy sigh. “We were talking about… _taxes_…” The end curled up into a question. He would not meet Aziraphale’s eyes, and his face was rapidly turning deeper shades of red.

“Ta—” Aziraphale gasped, blushing as well. “Well, I… Well, of course, my love. A deep and resounding _yes_.”

They continued to stare at each other, Aziraphale’s moon-shaped smile meeting Crowley’s shy grin.

“Well then,” Crowley cleared his throat. “Glad we settled that. I’ll pick out the rings. Don’t you dare think I’m about to start trusting you with _fashion_.”

FIN

**Author's Note:**

> I just want to see them HAPPY is all I ask
> 
> Thank you for reading!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Metastable](https://archiveofourown.org/works/21562099) by [ExMarks](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ExMarks/pseuds/ExMarks)


End file.
